


sloshed with gold

by orphan_account



Category: Family Guy (Cartoon)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-06
Updated: 2018-08-06
Packaged: 2019-06-22 23:55:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15593631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: The honeymooners.





	sloshed with gold

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from "Landscape with a Blur of Conquerors" by Richard Siken.

Brian is languishing in the bath. He stinks like wet dog, which defeats the purpose of bathing as a means of maintaining acceptable hygiene but quite suitably rounds out the pathetic picture that he makes. "Picture" because he is so still that he may as well be a moment immortalized in film, or dead.

"You're not dead, are you?" Stewie asks him. He sounds bored, or maybe dead, too, a careful application of the kind of skills that could never be taught in an acting class. He can feel the tremor in his hands even if it isn't visible in his voice.

"No," Brian says slowly. "Just drunk." He feels the words out with his mouth. He may be older than Stewie, but he regresses to something approximating a kind of infancy that Stewie himself had never experienced when he drinks. Pathetic, yes, in its poor timing among everything else. Stewie is only a child, so newly six that there are still streamers hanging in the kitchen because they couldn't afford to celebrate anywhere except home, and his husband is drunk in the bath.

"I'm not a housewife who will bite her tongue in fear of incurring your wrath," Stewie reminds him. "Get out of the bath and get sober."

"I'm in the bath _to_ get sober," Brian whines. "The water's cold. ...It's _really_ cold," he adds with all of the reverberating shock of a scientist discovering the cure for cancer, and then he turns his head to look at Stewie, expression dripping like a Dalí. "Will you come warm me up?"

"I will not!" Stewie cries. "The _nerve_."

But Brian is so sad. So, so sad. It's those eyes, with all of the blind impulse of a canine and the naked desire of a lush. Brian is no actor.

Stewie strips quickly but takes time to fold his clothes, setting them on the rim of the sink, and locks the bathroom door. They may be alone for the weekend to act out this lower-class facsimile of a honeymoon, but locking the door is a habit that Stewie is loathe to break.

Brian spreads his legs as Stewie steps inside, and Stewie would chide him for his presumptuousness if he didn't think that Brian was too drunk for sex to be at the forefront of his mind. He bends to sit at the opposite end of the tub, and is rewarded for his assumption and courtesy by Brian spreading his legs a little wider, enough to be painful, though Brian plays it off as casual, biting his bottom lip. Coyness is a relatively new look on him, and he wears it as uncomfortably as he wears anything else when his intent is to entice Stewie.

Stewie makes a show of rolling his eyes before re-situating himself so that he's laying chest-to-back with Brian, water sloshing out of the bathtub and onto the floor. No matter - the floor has seen worse.

"Was this your master plan?" Stewie asks him. "To take some liquid courage and seduce me into the bath? You could have done so with warmer water, you know; maybe some rose petals, too, if you were feeling particularly romantic."

Brian noses behind his ear. "That would have been too easy," he murmurs. His breath smells like cheap whisky, and the wet-dog smell hangs dankly around their heads, and Stewie knows that Brian is only telling a half-truth. It would have been very easy to get Stewie into the bath with him; it would have been significantly harder for Brian to admit to wanting Stewie in the bath with him, much less for him to arrange it without the aid of alcohol.

The marriage was more of a crutch than anything else, the emotional equivalent of training wheels. Brian had become emboldened enough, or maybe desperate enough, to respond to Stewie's advances nine or so months ago, but he had regressed in this way, too, afterward, so afraid of any sudden movements that Stewie, in his unkinder moments, likened him to an abuse victim. Gay marriage was of course legal nationwide, and Mayor West had long ago legalized interspecies marriages in the town of Quahog, and Stewie had already borne Brian's children, so forged signatures of consent from Lois and the Fat Man and the services of a particularly open-minded and blessedly discreet officiant were all that they needed for their relationship to become as legitimized as possible in the eyes of the law.

Stewie had thought that it would change things. That that damned slip of paper would be enough to nudge Brian in the direction of proper husbandry. That he wouldn't flinch like he'd been struck every time Stewie reached for his paw.

This intoxicated attempt at flirtation was dishearteningly familiar, but the kisses that Brian begins pressing to his neck are familiar in a much nicer way. Stewie squirms a little at the sensation, and makes a quiet, happy noise when Brian starts sucking a bruise into his skin. This is what he’'wanted - a strong man that wasn’t afraid of taking what he wanted from Stewie, with the sort of fierce loyalty that only a Labrador could achieve, all hard and soft in equal measure.

Brian pulls away from his neck. "I wanna fuck you," he says, and while his tone is a bit hazy, he's not slurring, so Stewie feels confident enough to wriggle against him and sigh, longing and a bit showy.

"We can't fuck in the bathtub," he says. "There's not enough room. We can get out and fuck somewhere else, though."

"Don't wanna get out of the bathtub," Brian huffs. "Wanna stay in here with you. You look like a mermaid when you're all wet."

Stewie laughs before he can stop himself. "You sure know how to sweet-talk a lady," he says. "Fine. We can stay here." He pauses for a moment, weighing his options - he doesn’t want to spook Brian, but the alcohol seems to have made him pliant enough for Stewie to add, "You know, I learned how to suck cock underwater."

"I don't want to know how you learned that," Brian says. He sounds more watery with sadness than gruff with anger, but Stewie doesn't have time to worry about whether or not he shot the mood because Brian adds, "But I want a demonstration. That's why you offered, right? Because you want me to be impressed? Want me to fuck that pretty throat?"

Stewie turns his head enough so that he can bite Brian's cheek, a bit playful, and a bit hungry, too. He can give as good as he gets, lest Brian forget. "If you really want to get me off," he says blithely, "then you can hold my head down, too, mouth all full of your cock and stinging-cold bathwater up my nose."

"I don't want to kill you," Brian says. He sounds taken aback, but his hips are starting to move in frustrated increments.

"All I'm asking for is is a little death," Stewie teases him, and when Brian cocks his head in confusion, Stewie sighs. " _La petite mort_. 'The little death.' It's a French euphemism for orgasm."

"Stop speaking French and start blowing me," Brian says flatly.

"I'm so lucky to have married such a gentleman," Stewie sighs, and before Brian can form a retort, he slips under the water.


End file.
